Swinging, Falling
by The-Missing-Paige
Summary: Edward swings from a tree, the classic picture of a young, happy boy. He is thinking about Roy pushing him propelling him gently through the air, but it's just an illusion. Roy isn't there, and Ed will do anything to get to where he really is.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, or any related characters.**

**Have a short, sad little story...this is what I thought of when I was swinging the other day...**

**Please review~**

* * *

I sit on the swing. Steady ropes, wood smoothed by my constant use, though it has been a long while since I was last here. I whisper the word I always say: "Ready."

I help Roy push me off, kicking up loose strands of grass. I move my legs rhythmically, feeling the rush of wind on my face. It's afternoon, cloudy, but the cool air is still refreshing. The ropes dig into my grasping fingers, but I don't dare let go.

More than anything, I feel Roy behind me, his presence as I launch upward, his warm hands pushing me ever higher even as I come back down to Earth.

Roy laughs behind me as I soar, echoing my own, embarrassing giggles. I would never let anyone else hear me like this, but I trust him. I love him. He propels me forward, up again as my legs stretch to give me maximum lift. My hair blows back, away from my face, and it tickles, one of those tiny feelings that's better than anything else.

Another push, harder this time. The force Roy puts in hurts, just a little, but I appreciate it. I love spending this time with him, how he always offers to push me; I never even have to ask.

Again, and again, and again Roy puts his hands on me, thrusting me forward, and rain begins to fall.

Because it's not real. Roy isn't there, he isn't helping me along. My legs are doing all the work, my torso moving forward in a sad imitation of the involuntary moments I made when he did push me.

Roy died last month.

It could have been anyone, they said. He had been visiting Briggs up north, when the Drachmans attacked. Of course, Roy always had been courageous, and hadn't hesitated to join the battle. I could imagine it, him marching out, confident as always. But it was snowing, and the dampness soon rid Roy of his ability to use his gloves. He had been making a retreat (this, too, I can picture; it would have been ungraceful, with Roy pouting and trying to maintain his ego in front of the other soldiers), and then he was hit, some form of missile. Some people found it ironic that Roy went up in flames. I just found it sad, unbearably sad.

I haven't swung since he died. Too many memories, and I couldn't bear the reminders. I missed him too much; hell, I _still_ miss him too much. That's why I'm here, swinging now, because I was hoping that coming closer to him would make the ache in my chest ease.

But it hasn't. Swinging here, it's closer to Roy, just close enough to make me yearn for him. But not close enough.

I close my leaking eyes, allowing myself to picture him. Smiling, laughing, the faces he reserved just for me. His hair, his eyes, his lips…Each time I rush downward, to the ground, I feel him buried underneath it, though in fact there was no body to bury, and his empty coffin lies in a cemetery many miles away. Every time I soar upwards, I wish I believed in heaven, so that I could picture him watching over me among the gray clouds.

I don't know what happens after life, what happens once a person succumbs to the inevitability of death. But I do know that I won't be reunited with Roy until I join him there.

I am still swinging, higher than ever before, so high I fear I may flip over the branch holding me aloft. My heart is beating wildly now, and the absence of Roy fills me so completely that I begin to gasp for breath. I want him, now, I need him. The sobs are ripping through me again, causing me to jerk on the ropes.

I always used to pretend I could fly on this swing. Sometimes, never from too high, I would jump. Roy would catch me, sometimes falling on his back as he did so, but never letting me go.

Higher, higher, and on a whim, I relax my grip, slipping off the swing.

I am not flying, I am falling, the ground impossibly far away. Roy is not waiting for me there, but maybe he will be if I land right. I tilt myself, unafraid, and crash headfirst into the ground, hard with the impending cold of winter.

A sick redness fills my vision, but I feel no pain, only lightness. I am disconnected, fading fast, and in the instant before I lose all my senses, I am sure I see Roy reaching for me, there to catch me one last time.


End file.
